An Easter without chocolate
by MarionArnold
Summary: An addendum to the 'Polar' world of Merle Dixon. Something short and sweet.


Never say never hey? I was prompted to do this by tumblr (and fan fiction author) Normryl's Easter theme for 'The Waiting Dead'. Only short and a little sweet.

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"Well _hello_ Mrs Dixon" he murmured seductively, his hand cupping her almost naked rear end at the same time as his breath hit her ear. He had woken alone and after waiting a couple of minutes in vain for her to return had gone searching for her. It had taken him several minutes to find her standing in her pyjamas in the kitchen and he had paused to admire the view before coming up behind her.

She jumped and there was an audible crack. "Shit Merle," she swore in a savage whisper – in a house with five children under three one learned very early to moderate one's voice regardless of one's initial instinct. "You scared the bloody tripe out of me!" and he grunted as her elbow snapped into his gut – slightly harder than she apparently intended because she leaned her head backwards and planted a soft kiss on his lips in apology.

He drew her bottom lip into his mouth, moving his stump up her waist and around to the front of her chest, dragging the edge of the singlet she slept in to access the warm skin underneath even as his hand went in the other direction and he pressed his groin against her. She shivered as his rough skin scraped hers, but she pulled her lip back and straightened, looking back into the sink.

Accepting the fact that she wasn't going to let him guide her to a quickie on the kitchen table (the chances of which had taken a nose dive since Glen had almost walked in on them) he moved his stump and hand back to more neutral positions on her hips and glanced over her shoulder.

He blinked. "What the hell are ya doin' sugar?"

"Blowing eggs," she replied, grimacing in distaste as she let the remains of the broken egg ooze off her fingers into a bowl with a number of others and flicking the remains of the broken shell into the chicken's bucket. She reached over to the side and pulled an egg from another container – a space showing where the broken one had come from.

"Blowing eggs?" he repeated slightly incredulously. "Marion, it's almost midnight".

"I know – but I ran out of time earlier," she nodded abstractly. Her schedule, between caring for the twins, overseeing the stables, helping in the fields and helping with the cooking and cleaning for their shared household had only been made harder with Maggie's pregnancy and Carol's end of season cold. The former was her second and nothing to get excited about quite yet, but she was the size of a house and navigating the steep stairs was not something to be done by herself. The latter, while it wouldn't have been serious before the apocalypse was enough to ensure that she kept herself away from the children and food preparation and rested more than she was happy with. He, Daryl and Glen had been too busy ploughing the field to be of much help although he had taken the twins on a few laps to give Marion a break before dinner and taken all five of them into the trough at bath time – which had been rather a loud affair.

"To do what?" he asked, still trying to make sense of what was going on and looking further around the bench to where there was a bowl of brown mixture.

She paused, a skewer held in one hand. "When I was a kid, my mum played a trick on me and my step siblings. We got up Easter morning and she made this big song and dance about getting us soft boiled eggs, she even warned us not to touch them because they were so hot. But when I cracked through mine – it was chocolate and there she was standing with the camera!"

Merle offered a smile – but as usual he had no idea where she was going with this.

"Our kids have never tasted chocolate Merle," she continued. "_Never_."

The ranch to which Officer Friendly and his group had been allocated upon reaching Nebraska had a large two storey homestead and a number of smaller cottages – Herschel's experience had ensured that they were supplied with cattle and Officer Friendly himself had cultivate the vegetable patch and orchard which now supplied their group's fresh food needs. Their own incestuous chicken flock (because one of Penny's brood had been a rooster and in addition to doing the dirty with his mother he had also done it with his sisters and they had multiplied) supplied the group with eggs. All of this they took to the various markets within the area, trading for other items that were being produced within a week's ride of them: fodder for the horses, grain for flour, corn, sheep and wool, pigs. But in the absence of factories and distribution systems – there were some things that just couldn't be had.

"Sugar – there's a lot of things they're never going to have," he replied matter of factly. "Chocolate is hardly the biggest thing."

"I know, I know," she said hurriedly, imagining a small amount of censure in his tone (which if it was there was more because he knew she needed rest). "It's just a little thing. But it's something I can change – I've made some chocolate."

"You've _made_ chocolate?" he repeated in a different tone to her slightly triumphant one and looked over at the bowl of brown mixture, reaching a finger over to it.

"The honey sweetens the cocoa. I know it's not perfect but…" her voice trailed off and she saw his expression. "That bad?"

Several years of marriage, and having to share a house with two other families, had taught him one or two things about co-habituating with women but he also knew his wife. He swallowed manfully and gave her a crooked grin. "Would rip the paint from the walls."

Marion sighed and placed the egg back in the container. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his shoulder, carefully holding her eggy hands away from him and sniffed. "I just wanted to make Easter a little bit special," she said mournfully.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and kissed the top of her ear. "You've done some painting," colourful eggs were piled high in a basket on the table in evidence of the kids' efforts – only Judith's looked like it had any semblance of planning and he idly wondered how many eggs had been used to make the modest pile. He knew there wouldn't be any waste, even those painted eggs would likely become the kids' breakfast – and by default his and the other fathers' when they refused to finish them. "I'll dress Glen up as the Easter Bunny and Daryl can hunt him for the kids (1)."

She snorted at the image and his attempt to cheer her up, lifting her face to him. He obliged, warming them both with a kiss that wasn't suited to the kitchen. "Go and check on the cherubs – I'll be up shortly," she promised, turning to wash her hands and pack away the mess.

The cherubs – or monsters depending on the hour and day – were snoring quietly in their big boy and girl beds next to their cousins and adoptive sister in her crib. Judith was curled up on a blow up mattress near the heads of the bed, having come for a sleep over and by the look of the books and candles there had been a significant delay between the kids going to bed and going to sleep. He picked up the largest of the items, clearing the runway for the exodus likely at some ungodly hour of the morning and then glanced over at the Dixon brood. Ethan had kicked his blankets off and was curled up in a small ball – Merle pulled them up and over him, gently tucking away the flyaway curls around his ear. Rose murmured in her sleep, it was a happy noise but he reached over to stroke her cheek. Felix was half fallen out of his bed and he snuffled a little as Merle replaced him on his mattress "Papa?" he said dreamily.

"Nah buddy, it's Uncle Merle," he replied softly and the youngster smiled and rolled over, asleep instantaneously.

"Daddy?" asked a small voice and he turned to smile at Chrissy, sitting up and blinking at him.

"Yes poppet?"

"Is it Easter yet?"

"Not until the sun comes up darlin'," he answered, squatting next to her.

"How long will that be Daddy?" she asked, lying back on her pillow and looking up at him with big blue eyes.

"'Bout five hours," he replied, tucking the blankets up around her shoulders. "But ya stay in bed until Mommy gets up – ok?"

She nodded, her eyes already closing. "Love you daddy."

"Love ya too darlin'," his voice choked a little and he pressed his lips to her forehead. He stayed there for a few moments until her breathing confirmed that she was asleep and then stood, casting a glance at baby Patricia to make sure she was settled (kid had a set of lungs that could raise everyone in the house) on his way out.

He still had a hard time believing that he had been part of what made those two perfect little beings, that his brother had been a part of making two others. If he had ever had to venture what his life would amount to, it wouldn't have even come close to this. He turned to Marion as she came up behind him, not at all worried that he probably had a slightly dreamy look on his face. He pulled the door closed and followed her up the stairs, enjoying the way her rear end swayed as they made their way up to the next level.

He _could_ have told her of course. But he hadn't – he hadn't told anyone. Daryl knew of course - he'd been there when he'd got the first seeds. Merle had actually thought for a moment that his brother would take a swing at him 'risking our entire pallet for a couple of weeds!' And it _had_ been a closer run thing than he would like to admit, even to himself. The odds had been good for a one armed man taking on the military man – but Merle had been a military man as well and he _knew_ how to fight. He also knew how to brawl – his childhood had seen to that and they had walked away with a damn good purse. The look of suspicion had stayed on Daryl's face and while Merle had understood, he had been pissed and he had kept his secret. The first and then the second crops had come and gone and Merle hadn't touched a bit – and Daryl had wanted to know what was going on. Together they had cultivated the ever expanding crop, hiding it from the others, fertilising with the chicken manure, keeping it at the right temperature, keeping the moisture content up. The expression of relief on Herschel's face and the pungent odour in the air had told them that they had quality material and carefully they had started to build a client base. Always only small amounts, always away from their home base, selling at what price they could get, never too high and never too low – doing nothing to attract attention. It had taken close to six months but finally Merle had found the very person he wanted, someone who travelled the length of the country trading – taking what grew in the north to the south and bringing what grew in the south back up to the north. His eyes had almost dropped out of his head when Merle had described what he wanted, but three crops' worth as well as some accumulated credits had got him what he wanted.

Tomorrow wouldn't be as chocolateless as she thought it would be.

He was going to get damn lucky tomorrow night.

(1) Based on a fic written by Praxid - published on tumblr, haven't looked to see whether it is here.


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